


through your eyes

by ketabat



Series: tumblr drabbles [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Body Image, Chubby Billy Hargrove, Confident Steve Harrington, Gay Billy Hargrove, Insecurity, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Post-Season/Series 03, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ketabat/pseuds/ketabat
Summary: Billy looks up, glares. ”Did you hear a thing I just said?” he spits. “I’m fucking— I’m,” he gestures for his body like that’s enough to get the heart of the matter across.“You’re what?” Billy has to hand it to him; he sounds genuinely confused. Which. He’s either blind or didn’t spend half as much time looking at Billy before Starcourt as Billy did looking at him.“Fat,” He relents. “Look at me, Steve. Just fucking. Look at me.”or, billy gains weight post starcourt.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: tumblr drabbles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2070432
Comments: 5
Kudos: 132





	through your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> im finally dragging all my tumblr stuff here. sorry in advance for spamming the tag.

He jumps twice. Twists a little. Tries to shimmy into the pair of jeans. The denim tears and frustration bursts in his chest, hot and fiery and it spreads down to his gut where it turns to liquid anger.  
  
He takes a breath. In and out like Dr. Owens taught him. Then sits down on the bed. Lays back, trying to ease his jeans up without flexing his thighs and adding to their girth and making shit more difficult.  
  
He manages to get them halfway up _one_ thigh before giving up. Rips them off and throws them to the floor before sitting on the side of the bed, burying his face in his hands and clenching his fingers so tight in his hair they ache.  
  
Steve knocks on his door what seems like hours later and peeks in, says, “Hey, are you r—” then stops and pushes the door all the way open. “Why aren’t you dressed?”  
  


Billy shrugs, waves vaguely at the jeans on the floor, their legs turned inside out from his attempt at pulling them off.“They don’t fit anymore,” he mumbles.  
  
Steve smiles, leaning lazily against the doorjamb. “Oh? You’re acting like they ever did. They always looked like they were a muscle flex away from ripping, Hargrove.”  
  
Billy rolls his eyes, kind of wants to bury his tears behind them.  
  
“Do you,” Steve tilts his head, a half-assed attempt at catching his eye. “Do you _want_ to go?” he asks, dropping the humor.  
  
“No,” Billy answers on a breath, outright and honest, like fucking Dr. Owens taught him. “No, Steve. I fucking don’t. Trust me, I _hate_ it, but right now, your stupid roof is the only thing that’s making me feel the safest possible. Alright?”  
  
Steve nods, _alright_. “Ok. I’ll call and tell them we can’t make it,” he states. Simple as that. Easy fucking peasy.  
  
“You can go, Steve. I don’t need a full-time babysitter.”  
  
“I want to stay,” Steve replies, shrugging, just as simple. Always so _simple_. “You hungry?”  
  
Billy looks up, glares. ”Did you hear a thing I just said?” he spits. “I’m fucking— I’m,” he gestures for his body like that’s enough to get the heart of the matter across.  
  
“You’re what?” Billy has to hand it to him; he sounds genuinely confused. Which. He’s either blind or didn’t spend half as much time looking at Billy before Starcourt as Billy did looking at _him._  
  
“Fat,” He relents. “Look at me, Steve. Just fucking. _Look_ at me.”  
  
“I am,” Steve shrugs his shoulder off the doorframe and steps inside. “I just think it’s—”  
  
_“Don’t,”_ Billy cuts in. “Don’t tell me it’s okay and all you see is a _hero_ and a _survivor_ and a— I don’t wanna hear it. Fuckin’. Heard all of it already from Mrs. Byers and Dr. Owens and half the fucking town. I don’t want anyone waxing poetic about me, I’m ugly as shit.”  
  
“I was going to say hot,” Steve says after a moment of ringing silence. Billy snaps his head up and looks at him, brows furrowed like he can’t believe what he just heard. “Was gonna say I can’t take my eyes off of you these days.”  
  
Billy. Billy doesn’t want _your scars are beautiful_. He doesn’t want _your heroism is inspiring_. He doesn’t want _you’re alive and you matter_. He wants to feel desirable again. He wants. He wants eyes on him. He wants to feel fucking irresistible and beddable, not pitied and looked up to. He wants _I want to fuck you_. He wants _you’re getting mesohard_ and _I can’t stop thinking_ _about_ _you inside me or me inside you_ or—  
  
“Jesus, Billy. You’re driving me crazy.”  
  
_—that._  
  
Billy swallows, eyes flitting over Steve’s face like he’s trying to detect a _lie_. He gives up a minute later, gives up on trying to fetch a reply too. Instead, he hangs his head, hands gripping the side of the bed tightly.  
  
“You really have _no_ idea how good you look, do you?” Steve sounds bewildered, _honest._ Makes Billy wonder what the _fuck_ he sees. “You look. Jesus, Billy.”  
  
Billy huffs a breath, can feel heat start to build up in the pit of his stomach, in his cheeks, at the tips of his ears. “Bullshit.” Maybe he just wants to hear more. Needs the reassurance. Doesn’t hurt that it’s coming from someone as pretty as _Steve._ Sue him for wanting some reassurance from the guy he’s falling in love with.  
  
Steve’s in front of him in three strides, hunkering down with his forearms on his thighs and his hands hanging limply between his legs. Billy looks away and Steve tilts his head, eyes chasing his. “You broke my nose, you know,” he states irrelevantly. “You rolled into Hawkins and put me in the shade. Do you think I even care how you feel right now?” he lifts his hand and pinches Billy’s chin between his fingers to force him into looking at him. “So. I’m speaking as a _disinterested_ party who doesn’t give a shit about your feelings when I tell you I can’t look at you without wanting to kiss you all over.”  
  
There’s a halt in Billy’s breath. He stares like he’s rooting out any sign this is some _sick_ joke. Retaliation for the hell he put Steve through. But he’s grown to _know_ Steve, and Steve isn’t _like_ that. Wouldn’t _do_ that. He’s too good, so _so_ good Billy feels like he’s rotting him with his closeness. He means to say _why_ _?_ or _don’t say shit like that_ or _didn’t think you swung that way,_ but. “Why,” his voice comes out cracked. He clears his throat, tries again. “Why don’t you?”  
  
Steve’s eyes soften. Fucking. Invalidate everything he just said about _not caring._ He lowers his hand from Billy’s face and ducks his head, hair hiding the shy smile that stretches across his face. He places his hand on Billy’s thigh when he looks back up, clenches his fingers into the meat there and groans, a quiet rumble from his throat. Billy’s nails dig into the mattress, he can feel himself start to harden as Steve runs his hands up, up, over the stretch marks lining the apex of them, and further up until he’s pushing his hands up his muscle shirt. His touch’s reverent and gentle on Billy’s skin, and. He squeezes his pecs, eyes fixed on his expression, his reaction, any sign of him not wanting this. Billy jolts, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting on a rushed-out moan. His toes curl, burning hot against the rug beneath his feet.  
  
Then Steve’s hands are gone and he’s standing up, eyes not wavering from Billy as he reaches for the buttons of his own shirt and starts undoing them, his grin kind and easy.  
  
“Lie back, Hargrove.”


End file.
